


If It Hadn't Been For Love

by blahrandomblah



Category: Sterek - Fandom, teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Determined Stiles, M/M, Missing Derek, emissary stiles, sciles brotp, searching stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-04 19:39:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blahrandomblah/pseuds/blahrandomblah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story is set one week after the end of 3x12. No one has heard from Derek, Cora, or Peter, and Stiles is determined to find them. Well, Stiles is determined to find Derek. The only thing is, he doesn't want everyone to know what he's up to, so he formulates a plan to leave town and find Derek on his own. Along the way, he runs into a few different obstacles.</p><p>This is based off of a prompt for a ficlet I received on tumblr. The prompt was: "Stiles decided to track Derek down and not tell anyone else that he was looking for him and he gets damn close but it's the middle of winter and there is snow and Derek finds Stiles lying in the snow all cold and hopeless". I tried making it short, but it's going to be much longer than a ficlet. This is only chapter one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Waiting was not one of Stiles Stilinski’s skills unless he was trying to make a point. He had knocked on the door to Derek Hale’s loft at least a full minute ago without any response. Stiles couldn’t hear any movement behind the door, but Derek could have been sleeping.

“Hey! Wake the fuck up, man,” Stiles shouted as he pounded on the door once again. Derek’s werewolf hearing would have guaranteed he heard Stiles. Still, there was no answer. “Seriously, this is getting old,” Stiles mumbled to himself. 

Stiles knelt down and pulled a torsion wrench and a selection of picks from the inside pocket of his coat. The internet was a marvelous thing. He had watched a gifset on how to pick a lock weeks ago, and had been practicing ever since on a variety of locks around his house. Stiles wasn’t proud of his potential to be a criminal, but having this new skill would definitely be useful in his business of protecting werewolves. Stiles felt the lock give and turned it to the right. He stood and slid the door open.

“Derek, Cora, I’m coming in,” Stiles said tentatively as he walked into the loft.

The inside of Derek’s apartment was as cool as the autumn air outside. The loft had never been particularly warm, but the chill felt odd against Stiles’ skin. The silence also worried him. He walked slowly through the large, open living area of the loft, but no one was there. He checked the space he knew to be Derek’s bedroom. The bed was empty and, if Stiles wasn’t mistaken, it was missing a pillow. He made his way upstairs to Cora and Peter’s bedrooms. Both were as empty as Derek’s, and Cora’s was also missing a pillow.

Stiles ran through the possibilities. If someone had attacked, the apartment would most likely be trashed, because Derek, Peter, nor Cora would have gone done without a fight. Plus, that wouldn’t explain the missing pillows. If they were on vacation, surely someone in the pack would know about it, but no one had heard from any of the Hales since the durach was defeated over a week ago. That left only one real option: the Hales had left town.

A quick search of the loft mostly confirmed Stiles’ suspicions. Derek and Cora’s closets were both less-than full. Along with the missing pillows, neither of their cellphone chargers were anywhere in the loft. Stiles checked the bathroom, and there was only one toothbrush. Stiles reached the only possible assumption: Derek and Cora had left. Peter’s things were all here, so Stiles figured he should exit before the unpredictable uncle returned. 

On a last minute whim, Stiles checked the ancient desktop computer Derek kept in his bedroom. Stiles correctly assumed that Derek hadn’t—or, more likely, didn’t know how to—erased his browsing history. He pulled up a Google Maps search for directions to Lakeview, Oregon. Stiles quickly entered the address into the GPS system on his phone and exited the loft. 

***

It took Stiles exactly two and a half minutes to formulate a plan after he had exited Derek’s loft. Now, he was implementing it. The plan was simple enough. Stiles had been able to save up about $1500 working odd end jobs through the last few summers and saving birthday and Christmas money. He would have more if he hadn’t spent so much for Lydia’s birthday the previous year. So, he was selling all of the stuff he didn’t end up giving her on eBay. He put every item on a two-day sale, and put—in his opinion—overly fair Buy Now prices on every item. If every item sold at the Buy Now price, Stiles would have about $2000. He took another $500 from a secret stash he knew his dad kept for emergencies and made sure to fill up his gas tank with his Dad’s credit card—he figured he could get in at least one more tank before his dad froze the card.

Since he had to wait for all of his stuff to sell, Stiles decided to find out as much as he could about Lakeview. He found out it was located at the bottom of the Warner Mountains in southeastern Oregon. It was just under 300 miles northeast of Beacon Hills, and would take Stiles nearly five hours to get there. It was a small town, barely 2,000 people total.

Looking at pictures of the area, Stiles can’t help but think it would be a great, expansive place for a werewolf pack to reside. Maybe something had driven Derek and Cora to seek out a new pack. Perhaps they had distantly related family in the area. No matter the explanation, Stiles didn’t like the idea of Derek being away from Beacon Hills. Sure, they hadn’t always gotten along, but Stiles felt safer with Derek nearby. And, ok, he missed arguing with Derek. He missed Derek.

The way Stiles’ mind worked, he sometimes did things before knowing exactly why he was doing them. He was dialing Ethan’s number and waiting for him to pick up before he knew what he was doing.

“Hello?” Ethan answered.

“Hey,” Stiles replied.

“I’m not even going to ask how you got this number, Stiles,” Ethan sighed.

Stiles could barely make out Danny’s voice in the background as it said, “Sorry, baby. I gave it to him.”

Stiles chuckled. “Don’t be mad at Danny, I would have gotten it anyway.”

“I’m not mad. What do you need?” Ethan asked.

Stiles’ conscious mind had finally caught up to his unconscious action. “When you were with the alpha pack, you guys traveled around a lot, right?”

Ethan must have turned from the phone because his voice was quieter. His words were meant for Danny, though. “I’m going to step outside real quick. Everything’s ok; I promise.” Stiles heard the click of a door before Ethan spoke again. “Sorry, I still haven’t found the right way to tell Danny about my…canine problem.”

“Trust me, we all know. Danny’s been in the dark for ages. It’s for him to know, though,” Stiles asserted.

“I know, and I will tell him,” Ethan guaranteed. “To answer your question, yes; we did travel around a lot. Deucalion was always looking for unique wolves,” he whispered the word, “to add to the pack.”

“Good,” Stiles responded. “Did you ever run into any packs or omegas in Oregon?”

Ethan chuckled. “All of the West Coast states are sanctuaries for wolves. The only greater numbers are spread through Appalachia—and we never ventured there.”

“Where are the biggest packs in Oregon?” Stiles asked. 

“There’s a large family of farmers in Junction City who are known to be werewolves. They have one of the largest packs in the US. North Plains has a large population of Omegas, if I remember right. There’s also a powerful pack in Lakeview at the base of some mountain. They’re smaller than the farming pack, but they maintain control of Drake Peak,” Ethan explained.

Stiles jotted down the name ‘Drake Peak’ and said, “Thanks, Ethan.”

“Don’t mention it,” Ethan responded. “Is something going on Aiden and I should know about?”

“No,” Stiles assured him. “I’m just trying to compile some information together on other packs, so we’re prepared in case anything ever happens. You know, better to be safe.”

“We could sit down one day, and I’ll tell you everything I know about the packs around the West Coast,” Ethan offered.

“Sounds good,” Stiles replied. “I’ll let you get back to Danny. Night.”

“Goodnight, Stiles,” Ethan echoed.

After the phone call with Ethan, Stiles checked on his eBay items. Most of them had bids, but none had reached the Buy Now prices yet. He crossed his fingers. In the meantime, he decided to start packing a bag and gathering necessities for the trip. Clothes were easy. Food would be easy enough, too—he didn’t mind dollar-cheeseburgers on the go. The hardest part would be weapons, because Stiles wasn’t foolish enough to travel unprotected anymore. 

Being a sheriff’s son, he had access to a plethora of guns at home. Well, he had access if he broke in. His father would most likely notice a missing weapon, though. If he was being honest, a gun wouldn’t help him much against werewolves anyways; they healed too quickly. He needed powdered mountain ash and as much monkshood as he could find. He could probably get both from Deaton if he insisted he had some interesting implementation ideas.

He also wanted to make sure no one had heard from Derek. Scott definitely hadn’t because he would have mentioned it to Stiles. Scott’s probably the only person who knows about Stiles’ crush on Derek. At the very least, he’s the only person Stiles has told. The girls wouldn’t know, and there’s no reason Ethan or Aiden would have heard anything either. Isaac was the only possibility.

Stiles dialed Isaac’s number. He answered on the first ring. “What’s up, Stiles?” he asked.

“Not much. Have you heard from your alpha lately?” Stiles wondered.

“You’d have to be a little more specific, Stiles,” Isaac posited. I haven’t felt fully attached to Derek since Scott became an alpha. You know I’ve always been closer to Scott. And, to be honest, I haven’t even felt any pull toward Derek since Jennifer was killed.” 

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked.

“Well, when you’re a beta, you sort of feel this connection to your alpha. You don’t have to do everything he/she says, but you are more inclined to because the bond pulls you toward trusting your alpha,” Isaac explained. “I haven’t felt any inclination toward Derek in over a week. I do feel inclined toward Scott, but not fully.”

“Hmmm,” Stiles answered noncommittally. “Well, have you heard from Derek recently?”

“No,” Isaac answered.

“Ok. Well…thanks,” Stiles said.

“Do you need help with something?” Isaac asked.

“Nope. I’m good,” Stiles lied. “Talk to you later.”

“Later,” Isaac replied.

Obviously, Stiles had noticed Isaac being drawn to Scott. Scott was nicer than Derek, though, and Derek had kicked Isaac out of his apartment. Maybe an action like that could affect the alpha-beta bond. It still struck Stiles as strange, though. He thought about it intently as he packed his clothes and hid his duffle bag under his bed.

***

Sitting through school the next day was brutal for Stiles. All he could do was think about the different things that could be happening to Derek and Cora. Why did they feel they had to leave without telling anyone? Had someone threatened them? He had to remind himself time after time that they could be doing something completely pleasant. The problem was, his instincts told him otherwise.

[Hey. Where are you? You ok?] Stiles finally sent to Derek. He wasn’t surprised when he didn’t receive a response.

When school was out, Stiles rushed home and checked his eBay account. Sure enough, all of the items he placed on there had sold. Some of the items even sold for more than he planned, so he had an extra $100. That would cover all of the packaging and shipping fees. Once he had written down all of the addresses, he stopped by the post office to send everything out—he was an honest seller. Then, he stopped by the vet clinic. Luckily, Scott hadn’t arrived yet. He told Deaton he wanted to try out some new applications of the mountain ash and monkshood, and Deaton went along with it. 

So, by 4:30 in the afternoon, Stiles was on the Golden State Highway starting his mission. Stiles had music blaring from his iPod and portable speakers, jamming out to Billy Joel classics and singing at the top of his lungs. It distracted him from thinking about Derek—and Cora…Cora’s out there, too. Almost an hour in, Stiles was merging onto CA-299 East which would carry him right into Lakeview. He still had over three hours left, so he decided to call Scott. He wouldn’t tell him what he was up to, but someone should know he is out of town.

“I’m working, Stiles. Is everything ok?” Scott answered.

“Yeah, it’s fine, Scott. Hey, your mom works the late shift tonight, right?” Stiles asked.

“She does…” Scott replied hesitantly.

Stiles feigned a sigh of relief. “I told my dad I’m staying over at your place tonight,” Stiles told Scott.

“You are?” Scott asked. “That’s awesome. You know Isaac will be there, right?”

“I do know that, but I’m not actually coming over,” Stiles said.

“Why not?” Scott asked.

Stiles sighed. “Look, I just need a night away. I’m driving out of town as we speak, and I just want a night by myself.”

“Dude, you know you have to be like 21 to rent a hotel room, right?” Scott asked.

“I figure an off-the-beaten-path motel will make an exception if I pay double,” Stiles answered. “Plus, I can just park in a Walmart parking lot and sleep.”

Scott hesitated before speaking. “Are you sure everything is alright, man? Look, I know you’re feeling down because Derek isn’t around, but…be careful, alright? Don’t get murdered in a sleazy motel.”

“It’s just hard being around the pack without Derek right now,” Stiles answered honestly. “You’re all a reminder he’s not here. And, yes, I know we’re not together…I know he’s not gay…but I miss him. I just need a night away from you all to sort things out.”

“Just promise me you’ll be careful,” Scott insisted.

“I won’t do anything stupid,” Stiles responded and, as he was an intelligent human being, he didn’t consider that a lie.

“Ok. I’ll cover for you,” Scott said. “I’ll make Isaac cover for you, too.”

“Thanks. I owe you one,” Stiles professed.

“What are brothers for?” Scott asked. “Be careful. Bye.”

“Bye,” Stiles repeated.

***

Stiles pulled into Lakeview around 9:15. From there, he headed west on Warner Highway until he could make his way north toward Drake Peak. He continued to drive north until he saw a sign for his destination. Stiles heard Scott’s voice in the back of his mind telling him not to do anything stupid, but Stiles decided to press on by foot. Plenty of vehicles probably drove through, and he needed to stand out if he wanted to find the Lakeview pack.

Stiles grabbed a bag of powder and attached it to his waist. He also grabbed a flashlight, a compass, two flares, a book of matches, and two sprigs of monkshood. He locked his jeep and stared at the forest in front of him. Stiles checked his compass and began walking slightly northwestward into the forest. After a mile or so of walking along the small road that forest rangers used, Stiles had gotten nowhere. He hadn’t seen or heard any wolves. To be honest, he was starting to wish he had driven up to the peak.

He was contemplating walking back to the jeep when a single twig broke behind him. It couldn’t have been more than 25 feet away. Stiles reached into the bag of powder and flung his hand straight up over his head. The powder encircled him creating a protective barrier six or seven feet in diameter. Stiles hadn’t over reacted either, because someone, clearly a werewolf, slammed into the barrier about two seconds later. The impact caused the barrier to flare, illuminating the pathway with a purplish-blue light. The werewolf collapsed suddenly.

“What did you do to him?” a voice beside Stiles asked.

Stiles turned slowly to see a massive werewolf standing beside him. If Ennis had been large, this man was massive. Stiles stuck his hand in the bag of powder in case he needed anymore. “He snuck up on me and I protected myself. Your friend will be fine in an hour or so.”

“Mountain ash shouldn’t incapacitate one of my betas,” the werewolf—apparently the alpha—asserted.

Standing his ground, Stiles explained, “That’s true. However, when it’s laced with Nordic blue monkshood that has been dried and crushed into a fine powder, the barrier takes on some properties of the monkshood.”

“Who are you?” the alpha asked.

“My name is Stiles Stilinski, and I’m looking for a werewolf friend of mine,” Stiles admitted. “I’m the emissary for a pack from California, and two of our company haven’t returned.” Stiles figured lying about being an emissary might help smooth things over with the alpha. “I know they were coming here, so I figured this would be the best place to start.”

The alpha studied him closely for a few moments, assessing him. “The number of emissaries has dwindled greatly over the past fifty years. They are dying out faster than us werewolves. Which clan of emissaries are you associated with?”

Stiles weighed the risk of revealing himself as part of the Beacon Hills against his need to find Derek. He was glad years of lying to a cop father steadied his heart as he said, “I’ve studied under the tutelage of a few different emissaries. You see, I have the gift through my mother—who passed away when I was young. You may have heard of my first mentor, Alan Deaton.”

“The Deatons are well-known among all of the Western packs,” the alpha acknowledged. “Your skill proves that you aren’t lying. My name is Joseph, but my betas call me Atlas.”

Stiles could clearly understand the reference. “Nice to meet you,” Stiles said.

“We don’t receive many visitors here. The forest and mountain deter most humans, and my pack and I deter the wolves. You must really care for these wolves of yours,” Atlas asserted.

“They are integral to our pack,” Stiles admitted. “One is our alpha.”

Surprise spread swiftly over Atlas’ face. “An alpha, you say?”

“Yes. One alpha and one beta, his sister,” Stiles confirmed.

“Six days ago, a brother and sister passed through this part of the forest. We granted them shelter for the night, and they moved on the next day. Toward Junction City, I believe. However, the two travelers were betas.”

“So, it wasn’t Derek and Cora?” Stiles mumbled to himself. “Two betas?” he asked a bit louder.

“Two betas,” Atlas confirmed. “I didn’t ask their names, but the names you just uttered are familiar to me for some reason. Derek and Cora. Derek and Cora,” the alpha paused. “Derek and Cora and Laura,” he added. His eyes widened. “You seek the Hales.”

Stiles was surprised this time. “Yes! That’s them. How do you know the Hales?”

“Everyone knows the Hales. Talia Hale was the most respected alpha of her generation. Rumor says she could transform fully into a wolf, as could her daughter Laura. Two transformative alphas in the same family is unheard of,” Atlas explained through gritted teeth. “The Hales are known nation-wide.”

“Wow,” Stiles uttered as he took in the enormity of the Hales. 

“I would kill any of them on sight,” Atlas declared. Stiles solidified his grip on the powder as the alpha’s eyes glowed red. “They had a chance to end the Argent line. End the leaders of the hunters. Do you know how many wolves I’ve lost to hunters?”

“Talia Hale worked her hardest to achieve piece with the Argents,” Stiles defended. “It was Gerard who refused to accept it. Gerard who blinded Deucalion. You can’t put this on the Hales.”

“There will never be peace among hunters and werewolves. She had a duty to end them there and then. A duty to protect all of our kind,” Atlas growled. “I may have missed an opportunity to kill the Hales six days ago, but I will not fail to kill their emissary tonight.”

As soon as the words left Atlas’ mouth, Stiles acted. He flung a handful of the mountain ash/monkshood combination at Atlas, who couldn’t block it without touching it. The enormous alpha fell to the ground and Stiles sprinted out of the barrier back toward his jeep. He had never run so fast in his life. He wasn’t fast enough, though. By the time he reached his jeep, five werewolves—most likely Atlas’ betas—blocked his way.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles makes strides in his search for Derek and Cora. He also hits an obstacle he wasn't prepared for.

Acting more on instinct than anything else, Stiles grabbed a flare. He quickly ripped off the plastic tip and struck the coarse end against the exposed flare. It sparked to life instantly. The betas at his jeep rushed forward to meet Stiles. Stiles hoped beyond hope as he grabbed a fistful of his mountain ash/monkshood powder. He flung the powder toward the betas and threw the flare into the cloud of dust. The dry powder lit up in a flicker of flame and the powder became smoke.

Stiles’ timing couldn’t have been more perfect. The betas hit the wall of smoke and grasped frantically at their throats before they knew what had hit them. All five of them were down in seconds. Being mixed with the ash, Stiles figured the monkshood wouldn’t be enough to kill any of the wolves, only knock them unconscious.

Knowing that there had to be more wolves around, Stiles picked up the flare from where it landed on the road and laid it on the ground 10 feet from his jeep. He lit the second flare and placed it six inches away from the first. He grabbed the pouch of mountainhood—his name for the new mixture—and emptied its contents in the space between the flares. The dust began burning, filling the area with werewolf-repellent smoke. Stiles opened the back door of the jeep and grabbed a handful of simple mountain ash. He released it in a circle around his trap.

Satisfied with his actions, Stiles jumped into the front seat of his jeep and barreled off away from Drake Peak. He followed the same path he had used on his way to the mountain until he was in Lakeview once again. Stiles didn’t trust his safety in Lakeview, and decided to drive even further before finding a place to stay for the night. Atlas had mentioned that Derek and Cora were heading to Junction City on OR-31 North. 

An hour or so had gone by before Stiles realized how tired he was. Checking the clock, he saw that it was just past midnight. He had seen a sign about two miles back for Summer Lake Hot Springs. The entrance was coming up on his right, and he turned in. No one was in the management office—it was probably too late—but Stiles could see an area for camping. He figured he would just set up a tent and pay for space in the morning.

It had been a while since he and Scott had gone camping, but Stiles managed to get the tent set up right next to the jeep anyways. He placed a sleeping bag and pillow inside it. He wouldn’t be able to charge his phone, but he’d figure out that problem tomorrow. As a last-minute precaution, Stiles grabbed a bag of mountain ash from the jeep and poured a thin circle around his camping area. He placed the bag back into the jeep and noted that he’d already used half of the mountain ash he had brought. He’d have to start being more careful.

***

The sudden vibration of his cell phone startled Stiles awake. He looked at the screen and saw that he had a new text message from Scott. He also noted that it was only 5:30 in the morning.

[Mom just got home. Your cover won’t last for long.] Scott sent.

[Thanks, man. FYI- I’m being perfectly safe.] Stiles replied.

Stiles could hear the sarcasm in Scott’s response. [I’m sure you are.]

Stiles was one of those people who had a tough time falling back asleep once they have been woken up. So, he began tearing down camp. There wasn’t much to pack up, so he was on the road again before 6:00. The management office was still empty, so Stiles made a mental note to mail them some money once he was back home. 

It wasn’t long before Stiles’ stomach was growling its hunger. He kept his eyes out for anything resembling a restaurant. Maybe twenty miles from his campsite, he came upon a small gas station that also served as a convenience store. He bought himself a hot breakfast sandwich. He used his dad’s credit card to fill up his tank and buy a fair amount of non-perishables. Beef jerky, bottles of water, a few candy bars, and a large bag of chips should keep him fed when he’s away from a McDonald’s. He also bought a few packs of those cheap hand warmers, just to be safe.

Finally, he was on the road to Junction City again. If the GPS on his phone were correct, it would take him around three more hours to get there. Stiles had to admit that the view out here was a bit lacking: trees, trees, more trees, and a lake. Repeat. He wondered how many of the trees were actually mountain ash. In all of his time researching, he had never bothered to figure out how to identify mountain ash in its non-powder form.

With just two hours remaining, Stiles merged onto I-5 North. He cranked up Sir Elton John’s “Crocodile Rock” and lost himself in the driving. Being alone on the road had an oddly calming effect on Stiles. He decided to take an actual vacation in the near future. Once Derek and Cora were back, that is.

***

Junction City was a quiet little town. Classic. Quaint. There were countless acres of farmland. Stiles drove past a huge Christmas tree farm and an even larger dairy farm. Based on Ethan’s information, Stiles figured one of these two farms belonged to the Junction City pack. He had no real way of finding out, though.

On a whim, Stiles drove around town trying to find a veterinary clinic. He couldn’t find one, but he did find a pet supply shop. He figured there was at least a chance that the emissary of the pack would take up residence in a pet-centric location; that’s what Deaton had done, after all. Stiles checked his watch; it was 9:30, so he assumed the place would be open.

The small ting of a bell accompanied Stiles’ entrance into Junction City Farm & Garden. A young, dark-haired man—maybe Stiles’ age, maybe a year older—stood behind the front counter. Stiles noticed his toned arms and unkempt hair, and couldn’t help thinking how cute he was. Stiles only had eyes for Derek, though.

The worker looked at Stiles inquisitively. “You’re not from around here,” he claimed.

“You know everyone in a town of almost 6,000?” Stiles retorted, walking up to the counter.

The young man argued, “As the only pet-supply shop in a town of pet owners? Yes.”

Stiles laughed. “Touché. I’m Stiles.”

“Here, the only stiles we have are the ones that keep animals from climbing fences,” the boy laughed. “I’m Michael.”

“Nice to meet you,” Stiles said.

“You, too. What can I help you find?” Michael asked.

Stiles considered this for a moment. He rested his hands on the counter, and an idea came to him. Stiles tapped his fingers on the counter and asked, “Is this mountain ash? I have a counter made of mountain ash in the veterinary clinic I help run in California. Very sturdy. Makes sure the animals can’t get out…or in,” Stiles added, looking Michael straight in the eyes.

Comprehension dawned across Michael’s face. He scanned Stiles sharply. “Aconite, monkshood, and wolfs bane: what’s the difference?”

“There is no difference,” Stiles answered. “All three are names for the same plant.”

“You’re an emissary?” Michael asked.

“In training,” Stiles lied. “You?”

“Same,” Michael answered. “What are you doing away from your pack?”

Stiles sighed. “It’s a really long story,” he admitted. Michael kept staring at Stiles. “Two of our wolves are missing. I’ve tracked them from California through Oregon, and I keep missing them. I know they passed through the Lakeview pack grounds and I was told they came this way.”

“It’s not within my right to share our pack’s business,” Michael admitted. “My father is the emissary to the pack here; although, I help more as I learn. Our pack is quite secretive and relies on my father and me to screen out unwanted visitors. I don’t foresee a problem with allowing you access to the pack, but that decision is my fathers.”

“Great! How do I get ahold of your father?” Stiles asked.

Michael’s face dropped. “You seem like you’re in a hurry. So, I’m sorry to tell you that my father won’t be returning for another two days.”

“There isn’t any way we could contact him?” Stiles pleaded. Michael shook his head. “I guess two days isn’t too long to wait. Where’s the cheapest hotel in this city?”

“You’re really an emissary in training?” Michael asked.

“I have trained many times with our emissary,” Stiles said, honestly.

Michael accepted this. “You can stay at our place, then.”

“Are you sure?” Stiles asked.

“To be honest, it’s basically an obligation here. We treat outside emissaries like a country would treat an ambassador,” Michael explained. “Our house is built out of mountain ash. There’s nowhere safer in town for a human.”

“Sounds good,” Stiles admitted. “Thank you.”

“I don’t get off here until 3:00. Why don’t you explore town, and then meet me back here?” Michael suggested.

“That works for me,” Stiles agreed. “Just point me toward some curly fries and I’ll be good!”

***

After a day and a half at Michael’s house, Stiles was finally getting anxious. The large farmhouse smelled like an antique store, which made Stiles feel like he had been there for ages. Michael was a great host, and Stiles couldn’t help noticing how easily they got along. The conversations they had helped Stiles keep his anxiety in check.

“How did you know the powder would catch fire?” Michael asked, completely awestruck. 

Stiles laughed. “I didn’t. It was just a gut reaction,” Stiles admitted. “You know as well as I do that humans don’t get time to be scared when facing werewolves. They’re just too fast.”

“It worked, though,” Michael reminded him. “You sound a lot like my dad. He’s always pushing the boundaries of our gifts, taking old secrets and twisting them into new applications.”

“I just want to find De…my pack mates,” Stiles corrected.

“You miss them,” Michael noticed. Stiles shrugged. “Is one of them your…?”

Stiles shook his head. “No. I…um…” Stiles couldn’t believe he was about to share this with Michael. It was just easy talking to him. “It’s just a…a crush.”

“How do you know she doesn’t feel the same way?” Michael asked.

“Well, he’s not gay for one. That’s a decent indicator,” Stiles joked.

Michael smiled. “And you’re sure he’s not gay?”

“Well, I haven’t exactly asked him, but he seems fairly straight,” Stiles said. “He dated one of my teachers.”

“So. I’ve dated plenty of girls, and that doesn’t make me any straighter than you,” Michael asserted. “It’s just what’s expected here. So, I date girls until they want to take it further and I break it off. New girl, no pressure.”

“Oh, so you’re…” Stiles raised his eyebrows.

“Gay,” Michael said, “In a town full of ripped farmhands. Homophobic, but sexy as hell.” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“I’ve noticed,” Stiles agreed. “Derek is ripped, too. You could grate cheese on his abs, and his jeans just hug all of the right places if you know what I mean.”

“I can imagine,” Michael said.

Stiles exhaled deeply. “The only person I’ve ever talked about this stuff with is my best friend, Scott. I can’t believe I’m telling you about any of this.”

“It’s easy to talk to you, too,” Michael admitted. “I don’t talk about any of this either.”

***

That night, Michael’s father returned to Junction City. He came through the front door around 8:00 PM and stopped when he saw Stiles. Michael swiftly stood up from where they had been continuing their conversation at the kitchen table.

“He’s an emissary, dad,” Michael explained. “He’s lost two of his pack mates and was hoping our pack might know something about them.”

“Derek and Cora?” his dad asked Stiles.

Stiles quickly stood from his seat. “Yes!” he nearly shouted. “Have they been here?”

“How do you know them?” the emissary asked.

“I’ve been a friend of the family’s for a few years. I train with their emissary,” Stiles answered.

“Alan Deaton has never mentioned a protégé before,” the elder man claimed.

Michael interrupted. “Dad, I’ve already checked. He’s knowledgeable. He noticed the wolfsbane at the supply shop on sight and passed the aconite test. Plus, he’s a bit of an inventor like you.”

Stiles quickly explained about his mountainhood concoction and the flare trap he left. Michael’s father listened intently and seemed impressed. At the end of Stiles’ story, he was shaking his head.

“Ok, yes. They were here three mornings ago,” he said. “Our pack won’t be of any use to you, though. I’m the one who helped them.” He walked forward and extended his hand. “Marcus Tyler.”

“Stiles Stilinski,” Stiles introduced himself. “What do you mean you helped them?”

“The Hales are old friends of mine. They’re looking for a powerful emissary, possibly the most powerful of us all. Derek is seeking a solution to a recent problem,” Marcus explained.

“We already took care of the durach. Is he afraid she will come back?” Stiles asked.

Marcus directed Stiles into a seat again. “This isn’t about the durach. You know that Cora was sick, I assume.” Stiles nodded his answer. “Derek healed her by siphoning off most of her pain. That much effort took away the spark that made him an alpha.”

“How did he know to do that?” Stiles aksed.

“His uncle,” Marcus answered. “Derek knew his uncle was underhanded and figured there would be a side-effect that Peter hadn’t explained. He was right; the alpha spark doesn’t just go out. It must find a new home. Its last inhabitant was Peter, so that’s where it returned.”

“Peter is the alpha again?” Stiles asked, shocked.

Marcus nodded. “Derek wants to find a way to regain that spark to prevent Peter from going on a rampage like he did last time. I couldn’t help him, but I directed him toward an emissary named Edina. If she can’t help him, no one can.”

Stiles had to know where to go. “Where does this Edina live?”

“Between Toronto and Ottawa, in Ontario. She lives on the edge of the Frontenac Provincial Park,” Marcus informed him. “She will be well-warded against werewolves. I’m sure your friends could use your help.”

“How do I get there?” Stiles asked.

“The same way Derek and Cora are getting there: transcontinental railroads,” Marcus said. “I smuggled the two of them into Canada and got them onto the train this morning. Another train won’t leave until Saturday.”

“So, we have two days, then. That’s a big lead,” Stiles fretted. “It’s a lot of ground to make up.”

Michael interrupted again. “Like my dad said, Edina will have warded the area against werewolves. She’s very powerful. It will take your friends days to find her.”

“Ok, well, smuggle me away, then!” Stiles agreed.

“We’ll leave first thing in the morning,” Marcus said. “We should all get some rest until then.”

***

The platform of the train station was packed with people. Stiles was slightly perturbed when he realized the ticket was going to cost him $1850, but he had the money and was determined to find Derek—and Cora. Marcus and Michael bid him farewell and wave as he begins to board the train. At the last minute, Michael grabs his arm and turns him around.

“You’ll regret it your whole life if you don’t at least tell Derek how you feel,” Michael said. “He may turn you down, but at least you’ll know you did everything you could. Ok?”

Stiles smiled widely. “Ok,” he agreed. 

Michael kissed him on the cheek and rushed back to his father. The two continued to wave until Stiles was carried away by the train. Left alone to his own devices, many thoughts filled Stiles’ mind: the idea of Peter as the alpha, Derek and Cora sneaking up on a powerful emissary, and Derek knowingly giving up his alpha ability for his sister—how sweet is that? The seven-day train ride isn’t going to be easy for Stiles.

***

Stiles clamored off of the train like a madman. To be honest, he may have gone slightly insane during the seven-day trip. The cold, November air revitalized him. He looked around for a man with an orange hat. Marcus had arranged a motorbike rental for Stiles—who had had to leave his precious jeep in Junction City—upon arrival. He found the man and paid for the bike. Stiles was down to just over $500. 

He checked the map that Marcus had gave him and started his way toward the Frontenac Provincial Park. The nearly three-hour drive ran alongside Lake Ontario. Stiles almost missed the trees of Oregon when water was his current view. He’d had enough water back when he had to keep Derek afloat during the kanima attack over a year ago.

He finally began to make his way north and passed the Gould Lake Conservation Area. Stiles noticed there were a lot of small lakes all around him, lakes and trees. The foliage thickened as he approached what he assumed was the edge of the Park. Stiles found a light post and demounted the motorbike. He leaned the bike against the post. Stiles checked the few belongings he had brought with him: two pouches of powder, a stake made from mountain ash—with Celtic carvings—that Marcus had given him, a compass, and another flare.

Based on Marcus’ information, Stiles knows he is within two miles of Edina’s cottage. He also knows her cottage will be disguised, even from a non-werewolf. Stiles decided to head northward. Snow wasn’t exactly impossible at the end of November in the Park, but this much snow was definitely improbable. The wind was also a problem. Minutes after Stiles walked a path through the snow, the wind covered up his tracks.

The longer Stiles stayed in the snow, the colder he got. The colder he got, the stiffer his joints became. Stiles fell to the ground repeatedly. Each time, the snow soaked into his clothes. An hour into his search, Stiles had, at best, wondered aimlessly in a semi-northern direction. He had almost fallen into two different ponds, and the snow had made his clothes far too damp. 

After another twenty minutes or so, Stiles was shivering uncontrollably from the cold. The wind died down for a few seconds, and Stiles thought he saw a small light 100 yards or so ahead. He took a step toward the light, but tripped over a snow-covered branch. The cold snow pressed against his soaked clothes turned Stiles’ shivering into full-out convulsions. Stiles shook and twitched in the snow with no help in sight.

“H-h-h-h-h…h-h-h-h-h…h-h-elp,” Stiles called out. In the wind, what chance did he have of being heard? This was the place he was going to die. He was sure of it.

Right before he drifted into unconsciousness, his heart skipped a beat as he thought he heard someone whisper a faint, “Stiles,” in the wind.


End file.
